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“Are you sure you’re okay?” Mingyu asks from his seat on Seungkwan’s half-lofted dorm bed, back slouching against the wall. His fingers hover over his phone screen as he stares at Seungkwan with concern.“Yeah,” Seungkwan mutters, glancing between the bundle of assorted writing utensils in his hand and his open desk drawers an arms-length away. “I’m just stressed.”
“Okay,” Mingyu says hesitantly. He had known Seungkwan was prone to stress-induced cleaning and organization binges, but Mingyu had never seen one this intense. He plans to stay put and make sure Seungkwan doesn’t go overboard, even if he refuses to talk about what’s bothering him.
“It’s just midterms. I thought I’d be used to them by now, but they’re somehow worse every single time,” Seungkwan explains as he places the pens and pencils inside a drawer one by one and with unnecessary force.
Finally satisfied with his new desk setup, Seungkwan shuts the drawers. He braces himself with one hand on his headboard and the other on the side railing and hops onto the bed, landing opposite Mingyu. He begins pulling at the Polaroid pictures hanging in a grid on the wall above his bed, the cheap painter’s tape behind each one audibly detaching from the wall with each firm tug. He places the photographs in his free hand as he goes.
“When did you get into Polaroids?” Mingyu asks, motioning to the growing stack in Seungkwan’s hand. “You didn’t have any up when we met, did you?”
Mingyu is referring to nearly a year and a half prior, when the pair met in a discussion class during Seungkwan’s first semester and, upon discovering their dorm buildings were next door to each other, began hanging out and studying together frequently. They quickly became inseparable and began dating later that semester.
Seungkwan nods and says, “I mean, I’ve always liked the look of Polaroids and wanted some, but I didn’t have a chance to take any until I got the camera for Christmas last year.” He gestures to said camera sitting on the bookshelf across the room.
He turns his attention to look at the pictures on the wall. There are several blurry attempts at nature photography: a snowy courtyard, orange autumn leaves on wet pavement, and an upward-facing view of the sky peeking through a tangle of tree branches, among others. There’s one of his dog. There’s a couple of friends from high school. Two of his immediate family. Most of the pictures, however, are of Mingyu, both with and without him.
Mingyu turns to look up at the pictures as well. “I like them. They suit you,” he says, sending Seungkwan a gentle smile. “Who got it for you?”
Seungkwan pauses, pursing his lips, and returns to staring at the collection on his wall. His gaze flickers between the photos, wondering what each says about him to others who may not know him well. As he ponders this, the silence between the pair drags on. Seungkwan realizes he’s let the length of this pause become awkward. So, he turns to Mingyu, furrows his brows as genuinely as he can muster, and lies.
“You know, I’m not really sure. It was one of my friends, but I can’t remember which one. It’s been a while.”
Mingyu looks at him quizzically for a moment, then nods, his expression clearing as he returns his attention to his phone.
---
But Seungkwan does remember who gave it to him. He remembers exactly where, when, and how he got it. He remembers sitting in a dark parking lot with Hansol the first night they were finally in the same city again. He remembers the shy smiles they exchanged across the front seat of Hansol’s car. But he can’t bring himself to tell Mingyu that. It would feel like a betrayal.
Seungkwan and Hansol’s relationship simultaneously surprised everyone and no one. From an outside perspective, the two were opposites. Seungkwan was boisterous and loud, a personality known throughout their senior class. Hansol, on the other hand, flew under the radar. He was quiet and kept to himself, known primarily for his tendency to have headphones on as often as possible. While it appeared odd from the outside, this contrast made them complementary. Hansol reminded Seungkwan to slow down and calmly take things as they came, and Seungkwan encouraged Hansol to try more activities and branch outside of his limiting comfort zone. Once they became friends, they were inseparable, and so it was eventually assumed that they were dating.
Despite having been acquaintances throughout much of school, the pair had never gotten to know each other due a lack of social proximity. But when they both found themselves with the same end-of-day study hall their senior year and Hansol was the one with a car, Seungkwan begged him for rides home. Once these car rides proved their compatibility in humor and interests, their arrangement quickly evolved into spending their study hall hours together. They’d find an unused classroom or go out to get food or coffee. They’d usually talk and laugh, complaining about school and mocking their out-of-touch teachers. Other times, they’d sit in silence together and stress about the week’s looming deadlines.
Seungkwan didn’t know when they’d crossed a line and entered into something special and exclusive, but soon they were inexplicably linked. It became clear that they were each others’ priorities–a package deal. Classmates came to Seungkwan with questions about Hansol if they couldn’t find him, and any invitation for Hansol was understood to implicitly include Seungkwan.
This ineffable bond was cemented on a spring night in Hansol’s car. They had bought breakfast food from a drive-thru near midnight and were eating their meals in silence save for the barely audible music coming from the car’s Bluetooth–one of Hansol’s carefully curated playlists. As they joked around, they naturally leaned closer and closer until their shoulders were touching and their faces a breath’s width apart. Seungkwan became acutely aware of his racing heart and shaking hands, overwhelmed with the desire to close the miniscule space between the two of them and kiss Hansol.
His mind, however, was reeling, buzzing with static, trying to weigh the consequences of his desire to lean forward.
He wanted this, he really did. Didn’t Hansol also? After all, everyone told him it was obvious that Hansol had feelings for him. Seungkwan had had the sneaking suspicion before, but their friendship was too valuable to let himself see that possibility with Hansol. But now, as they sat with foreheads all but pressed together, silent in the darkness, Seungkwan questioned that line of logic. What if declaring his feelings was the right thing to do? What if Hansol felt the same way? What if he wanted the same future?
After an unbearable length of holding their breaths and not moving in the slightest, Seungkwan leaned forward, heart pounding in his ears. He closed the space between the two, their lips meeting in a quick, chaste kiss.
He was immediately flooded with embarrassment and scrunched his eyes shut as he pulled away, refusing to meet Hansol’s gaze. The song quietly playing sang about getting wasted to forget someone. Seungkwan sucked in a breath, preparing an apology as he inwardly cursed at himself. Before he could string together a coherent sentence, his thoughts were cut short by a low chuckle.
Seungkwan finally opened his eyes and whipped his head around to look at Hansol, who still had the remnants of laughter on his face. Seungkwan opened his mouth to say something, but the embarrassment of his courage being met with laughter overtook him, so he just glared at Hansol instead.
Finally making eye contact, Hansol grinned and said, “I guess everyone was right about us liking each other.”
“Shut up,” Seungkwan muttered in annoyance before he was silenced with another kiss.
---
Their summer of bliss was sprinkled with reminders of what was to come, particularly on the rare occasion they discussed whether they would continue their relationship when they left for college. Hansol said that he was fine either way, the smile on his face confirming his sincerity. Hansol, who always gave him the benefit of the doubt, believed that their love could transcend the suffering that most high school sweethearts endured after going long-distance.
But Seungwkan couldn’t bear the thought of losing him forever if anything went awry, especially if they were too far away to properly work things out. Eventually, they agreed that they would save their friendship by breaking up the day the first of them left for college. Maybe their paths would lead them back to a romantic relationship. Maybe the first few months apart would prove that long-distance wasn’t a problem for them and then they’d get back together. Only time would tell.
---
Their last night together finally came in mid-August. Wanting it to be memorable, Seungkwan planned a literal trip down memory lane in which the pair visited a series of spots that had been significant to their relationship: his favorite restaurant, the first place they had held hands, their favorite place to walk, a fountain they used to meet up at, and Hansol’s favorite place to get dessert.
Sitting in a parking lot at one of their stops, Hansol told Seungkwan he loved him. Much like the night of their first kiss, a song from Hansol’s playlist was all that could be heard before the sentiment was finally returned. This time, the playlist on loop had been lovingly assembled by Seungkwan, full of songs that made him think of Hansol and accompanied by a letter explaining each association–a bittersweet parting gift.
That August night, Hansol cried. Seungkwan had hoped to end their goodbyes in the car so he’d be out of Hansol’s earshot by the time he started sobbing, but Hansol insisted on getting out of the car to give him a full-body hug. It exuded love and care, as if he was trying to stockpile a reserve upon which to rely during their months apart. Seungkwan couldn’t stop the tears from streaming down his face in Hansol’s embrace.
Just as soon as they were saying ‘I love you,’ they were saying goodbye.
Seungkwan didn’t turn around as he walked up to his doorstep, knowing he couldn’t bear to see Hansol’s car drive away one last time.
---
That December, the pair met up the first night that both were home for break to see each other again and exchange Christmas gifts. Seungkwan didn’t mention that he had started seeing someone else. After all, they hadn’t promised to try again in December; it had merely been left on the table as a possibility. He wasn’t breaking any rules.
But really, he didn’t tell because he knew Hansol wouldn’t ask. Hansol, who always gave him the benefit of the doubt and met him where he was, bringing no expectations–only love–wouldn’t expect Seungkwan to betray him like that. He would have assumed that Seungkwan had kept him a priority the way that he had with Seungkwan. He wouldn’t even think to ask about it.
And that’s exactly why his gift was so heartfelt. Seungkwan gave Hansol a forgettable book about a music genre he liked, but Hansol had bought Seungkwan a Polaroid camera. Hansol had remembered all of the aesthetic Instagram posts and study videos Seungkwan had shown him during their study hall conversations. He had remembered how romantic Seungkwan told him Polaroid pictures were. Because he always remembered every detail about Seungkwan, he had shown his love by listening and giving Seungkwan exactly what he’d yearned for. Seungkwan had moved across the country and left him behind. And Hansol had still chosen love.
---
“You okay?” Mingyu asks, grounding Seungkwan in the present day again. It isn’t December and he’s not in Hansol’s car. It’s March, over a year later, he has midterms to work on, and he’s beside the man he loves now. The sudden contrast makes Seungkwan’s chest faintly ache.
He looks over the pictures of Mingyu arranged on his wall. These are pictures of the man he loves. A love who is so different from the love who gave him the camera of his dreams. A love who is kissing him in one picture and pinching his cheeks in another. A love who looks so at home in nature in yet another photo. A love whose pouting, smiling, and sleeping faces have all been captured and preserved in time by that camera. Seungkwan is struck with a stab of guilt. There isn’t a single picture of Hansol. He never took one.
He’d said he would. In fact, he’d promised he would. The night he received the camera, he told Hansol he’d be Seungkwan’s first model as soon as he figured out how the film worked. As it had turned out, he’d lied, just as he’s lying to Mingyu now. He realizes he can only vaguely recall when it was that he and Hansol last spoke.
That camera was a gift from his first love the Christmas after Seungkwan had broken his heart but left him with a string of false hope. And Seungkwan had used it to take pictures of the next man he loved.
"Yeah, I'm fine."